Hopeless
by Won't-wear-a-Halo
Summary: [Takes place right after civil war, slightly altering the events at the end. Written in first person (which I never do, but here we are)] My hopeful nature has always been an asset, and as Steve brings Bucky to our newest hide-out, I thought it would help him. I thought I could help him.


**Hopeless**

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It's a nice feeling, the first time your heart skips. That initial moment that you realise someone has that effect on you. As a teenager it used to make me incredibly nervous, effectively rendering me speechless. I would simply stare at the guy in question and hope he would notice me, eventually speak to me. Always too scared to be the first to speak myself. I can't tell you how often that worked against me.

These days it still makes me nervous, but doesn't leave me speechless. Instead I can manage a sentence, a conversation even. Making getting to know someone a little easier. What it does not help with though, knowing if the person in question returns the feelings. Those budding ' oh that person is cute' feelings. When you want to know if flirting is the right call.

So when Bucky was first brought into the building by Steve, and my heart skipped a beat, I decided to slow it down. He had been though so much and didn't need to know that I thought he was gorgeous. In the past I had jumped into these things. However, in those instances the receiver of my budding affection had not been through hell. I could not be sure how he would react to someone complimenting him, flirting with him. I could be sure that it was not what he needed. What he needed was normalcy, time to ground himself. Time to catch his breath. The space to rediscover himself. Perhaps he could even use a friend.

So I squashed my crush. Ignored it. It wasn't too hard, since I knew nothing about him and it was all very superficial. Instead I was patient, kind and welcoming. Offered him friendship, distraction from his wandering mind and a place he could call home. The entire team worked on that. Our love and respect for Steve was enough to want to act as a warm blanket for his oldest friend. That first day, as he sat stoic in a chair at the table, anxiously looking around at the faces in the room, everyone tumbled over themselves to tell him he was welcome. Looking back on that now, I realised we might have overwhelmed the poor man.

Bucky was distant, keeping everyone at bay. Wary of any form of attention. Often he stayed in his room throughout the day, not even coming out for food or drink. Steve tried so hard. Tried to help him, give him space, be his friend, but it soon became clear that he was unsure of how to proceed. Bucky was so withdrawn and it was difficult for him to figure out a way to get through to him. Steve had confessed that even when his friend allowed him into his room, there was little conversation. Bucky seemed to have forgotten how to connect. To anything and anyone. Eventually Steve simply began to leave things in front of his door. Hoping to show instead of telling that he would be by his side. He left food, beverages, mementos of their shared past. It always made its way into the room, though nobody saw Bucky open the door.

It wasn't until one night after a particular long mission, where I had tried and hopefully succeeded to put the government on a wrong trail, I found myself unable to sleep, and wandered through the farm we called home at the moment. Careful not to make a sound, I walked around on sock covered feet. Midnight snack in hand, music in my ear, I made my way to the balcony that overlooked the surrounding fields. The balcony was on the second floor, right of the attic that we now used as an office. Usually the doors to the balcony remained closed, but you risked the exposure as you unlocked them.

It was a warm night, clear skies offering a beautiful view of the trees, sunflowers and grass illuminated by moonlight. It was my favourite place of all the hide-outs we've had so far, especially in the silence of the night. Stepping onto the cold weathered wood, I shivered before sighing deeply, taking in the scene before me and letting the fresh air wash over my aching body. My racing mind instantly seemed to clear up.

Lazily I leaned forward on the railing, staring up at the full moon, when movement below the balcony caught my attention. For a moment I was on high alert, fearing for a hostile break in. Then I recognised the long dark locks of the silent figure, as he sat down on the overgrown lawn. I watched as his fingers absentmindedly moved through the grassy greens, while he stared straight ahead. It took me a moment to realise what he was doing, not until his flesh hand angrily wiped at his face. He was crying. Dumbstruck I stood rooted to the ground, unable to move an inch, simply staring at the lone crying figure. A few moments passed before I was able to remove myself from the scene. Turning around I silently walked back through the double doors and walked straight to my room. He didn't need an audience.

After this I began to notice his movements more. As soon as people had gone to bed, he would leave his room. Sometimes to run, crossing the surrounding fields, running until he had exhausted himself so he could hardly move another muscle. Other times he would sit outside on the grass, staring straight ahead. I wondered what went through his head in those times, for he seemed so lost in those moments. Stuck in a state of constant torture. It was clear that he had trouble adjusting to this new life he had been given.

With my room next to his it was easy to hear what went on in his. More than once had I heard him cry, rage and scream. His pain was eating at him, keeping him awake at night and isolating him. He was struggling and needed help, but I wasn't sure how to offer any. If he wasn't accepting it from Steve, why would he accept any help from me?

Still the next sleepless night, I waited for him to leave his room, before following him outside. Hesitation halted my steps as I watched him sit down in his usual spot. Finally I took a deep breath and opened the door to follow him, making sure to made a sound so he wouldn't spook. At least if he heard me coming, he would be able to take himself out of the situation. His head perked up, but he remained seated as I moved closer.

"Hi" I said softly, lowering myself down on the grass next to him. His eyes shifted over to me, but he didn't say a word. His shoulders were tense and I knew I had to say something to make him relax.

"Sorry to invade your space. I just…" for a moment I wasn't sure what to say next, "I want to help you"

"Help me?" His voice surprised you. It was soft, gruff and uncertain as he looked at me. Emotions seemed to wage a war behind those beautiful blue orbs and it took me by surprise. I'd never seen such devastation in a person before. Finally I could see just how broken he really was. It only made me want to help him more.

"I've seen you come here. I've seen you struggle. I'm not trying to pry or make you do anything you don't want too, but I'm told I'm a good listener." Stopping a moment to look him in the eye before I spoke the next words, "I just want you to know that you don't have to do this alone."

He didn't say a word, but his shoulders slumped and his eyes moved straight ahead again, where he seemed to take in the dark shadows of the sunflower fields that surrounded the farm on three sides.

After what seemed like an eternity he moved again, looking at me, and he opened his mouth. Nothing came out and he closed it again, looking down at his hands. Sensing he wanted to talk, I stayed silent as I watched him struggle to get words out. It took him a while, but finally he seemed to figure out what he wanted to say.

"He gave up everything for me. All of you did" he began, "I just don't think I'm worth all that". He sniffed and a single tear rolled down his cheek, effectively breaking my heart. Without thinking, I grabbed his hand in both of mine, holding it close to me. Surprised his looked down at our touching hands and I followed his gaze. I'd grabbed his metal arm. He seemed shocked by that fact. Not letting it go, I looked him in the eye. Hoping he could see my determination, my drive to truly be of help.

"You've been through hell and back, you deserve better."

"I did horrible things" his voice cracked and it took all my willpower, not to hug him. He'd not been around kindness, touch must be difficult. Grabbing his hand had already been a bold move, huddling him could easily push him further away. I didn't want that to happen at all.

"You weren't given a choice." He shrugged at my words, as if that didn't matter and I realised that in his mind it probably didn't. He still had to live with the things he had done even if it had not truly been him.

"Bucky listen to me" using one hand to turn his face in my direction, "I know you must feel responsible for all of it, but you are not. Your hands were forced, your mind was erased more times than any of us can even imagine. For years you had no control. You were tortured and forced to live a certain way. That is not on you."

"Then who?" He asked.

"It doesn't matter who. Hydra was discovered and they will be dealt with. You need to focus on you now. Realise that you are a good person. Worthy of help. And you are only responsible for the moments where you had a choice."

He didn't speak and I allowed the silence to sit between the two of us for a moment. His breath came out ragged and I began to draw circles on his back with the hand that had turned his face in my direction, while my other hand still held his cold metal hand close.

"You'll have to figure out who you truly are, without the strings hydra has been pulling for so long. I don't think you can if you pull away from everyone. Let us help you"

Releasing his hand, I impulsively pressed a kiss to his temple and got up off the ground. Without looking back, I walked back inside and went to bed, hoping that my words would have effect.

The next morning as we sat in the attic, discussing our next move, the creaking of a floorboard caught our attention. Silence took the room immediately and Wanda quietly moved towards the stairway, hoping to get a feel of however was moving in our general direction. Soon a soft smile played on her lips as she moved to open the door that as blocking our view of the culprit.

"Come in" her kind smile beaming at the intruder. As soon as she had begun smiling, everyone had instantly relaxed, she was the best judge of character anyone could ask for. And when Bucky hesitantly stepped into the room, a collective sigh passed. Steve moved quickly, enveloping him in a hug. Over Steve's shoulder, Bucky caught my eye and I smiled at him, grateful that he took a chance.

Over the course of the following two weeks, Bucky made an effort to be around the group an hour or two a day. He still wasn't comfortable, but he was trying. Steve had been rejuvenated by the progress, walking with a spring in his step. Eager to figure a way out of their dire situation. Steve knew that they could not run forever. Yet there wasn't a clear path to take. They were still wanted criminals, all of them. But they were human beings who had walked away from all the family they had known. Wanda was missing Vision more and more each day. Sam was going stir crazy, as was Natasha, especially with Clint gone. And the constant moving wasn't easy on anyone. We were all becoming increasingly tired.

Those first two weeks, I had been convinced that I was helping Bucky. That being amongst the group would help him. I thought he was getting better. That he would start feeling better. Not until I caught him sitting outside of our current hideout in a small European town in the middle of nowhere, tears streaming down his face, that I suddenly realised he wasn't mending. He was breaking. Seemingly conflicted as he sat there, his emotions clear on his face.

Confronting him he had confirmed as much. He didn't dare trust himself. He was afraid of his own mind. It was still so easily manipulated, since so little was known about what hydra had done to him. The trigger words that Zumo had used, they were still in there. If anyone else found out about them, he could easily be turned against anyone. He didn't feel safe. He felt a danger to everyone that was trying to help him. He was afraid of himself and everything, since nothing in the world seemed familiar anymore. He was anxious all the time.

Though I had wished to give him hope, wanted to help him, there was nothing I could say to ease those fears. Those were some well founded fears. And as hard as I tried, this was not something I would ever truly understand. I never had to be afraid of my own mind. It had never betrayed me like his had. Control had never been taken from me in such a massive way. All I could do was hold him, promising I would try and find a way to help him release those fears. And there was only one person in the world that I knew could help.

The next morning I suggested we'd move south, to Wakanda. There we could recuperate for a moment. Allow ourselves to finally relax after weeks upon weeks of running. T'Challa had promised us a safe haven and we needed it now more than ever. Though I did not tell them just why.

If I had known the choice Bucky would make over the following days, I'm not sure I would have made the same choices. Seeing Steve's heart break over his friend, so shortly after thinking things were getting better, was hard. His fallen face and slumped shoulders were fixed in my memory. And as I said my goodbye to Bucky, right before he went back into cryo, my hopeful nature took a huge hit. I thought it had been my greatest asset, but it had been so wrong this time. Seeing the good in Bucky had not been enough. Trying to get him to see the good had not been enough. And now he was lost to them once more and the fight they had picked over him had suddenly seemed useless.

It was hard telling myself that the fight had not been solely about Bucky, even though rationally I knew the truth of it. Right now it just seemed too difficult.

And as I tried to comfort a crushed Steve, I wondered if I would feel that flutter in my heart again…the one Bucky had caused when I first laid eyes on him.

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**A/n:**_This was literally written in such a short amount of time, but I wanted to post it anyway. I might dislike it in a little while, but I've hardly written anything since I finished the long way home…I just wanted to write. And though this did not work out at all how I had imagined after thinking up those first few lines, I think this suited me better at this moment. I guess I'm not in the right state of mind for lighthearted. _

_Anyway, let me know what you think of this one._


End file.
